"I see," Julian muttered. "What you are prepared to plead guilty to is holding communication with members of the Labour and Socialist Party in Germany."
"I plead guilty to nothing," Furley answered, with a touch of his old fierceness. "Don't talk like your father and his class, Julian. Get away from it. Be yourself. Your Ministers can't end the war. Your Government can't. They opened their mouth too wide at first. They made too many commitments. Ask Stenson. He'll tell you that I'm speaking the truth. So it goes on, and day by day it costs the world a few hundred or a few thousand human lives, and God knows how much of man's labour and brains, annihilated, wasted, blown into the air! Somehow or other the war has got to stop, Julian. If the politicians won't do it, the people must."
"The people," Julian repeated a little sadly. "Rienzi once trusted in the people."
"There's a difference," Furley protested. "Today the people are all right, but the Rienzi isn't here - My God!"
He broke off suddenly, pursuing another train of thought. He leaned forward.
"Look here," he said, "we'll talk about the fate of that communication later. What about Miss Abbeway?"
"Miss Abbeway," Julian told him, "was in imminent danger last night of arrest as a spy. Against my principles and all my convictions, I have done my best to protect her against the consequences of her ridiculous and inexcusable conduct. I don't know anything about your association, Furley, but I consider you a lot of rotters to allow a girl to take on a job like this."
Furley's eyes flashed in sympathy.
"It was a cowardly action, Julian," he agreed. "I'm hot with shame when I think of it. But don't, for heaven's sake, think I had anything to do with the affair! We have a secret service branch which arranges for those things. It's that skunk Fenn who's responsible. Damn him!"
"Nicholas Fenn, the pacifist!" Julian exclaimed. "So you take vermin like that into your councils!"
"You can't call him too hard a name for me at this moment," Furley muttered.
"Nicholas Fenn," Julian repeated, with a new light in his eyes.
"Why, the cable I censored was to him! So he's the arch traitor!"
"Nicholas Fenn is in it;" Furley admitted, "although I deny that there's any treason whatever in the affair."
"Don't talk nonsense!" Julian replied. "What about your German hairdresser who was shot this morning?"
"It was a mistake to make use of him," Furley confessed. "Fenn has deceived us all as to the method of our communications. But listen, Julian. You'll be able to get Miss Abbeway out of this?"
"If I don't," Julian replied, "I shall be in it myself, for I've lied myself black in the face already."
"You're a man, for all the starch in you, Julian," Furley declared. "If anything were to happen to that girl, I'd wring Fenn's neck."
"I think she's safe for the present," Julian pronounced. "You see, she isn't in possession of the incriminating document. I took it from her when she was in danger of arrest."
"What are you going to do with it?"
"You can't have much doubt about that," was the composed reply.
"I shall go to town to-morrow and hand it over to the proper authorities."
Julian rose to his feet as he spoke. Furley looked at him helplessly.
"How in heaven's name, man," he groaned, "shall I be able to make you see the truth!"
A touch of the winter sunlight was upon Julian's face which, curiously enough, at that moment resembled his father's in its cold, patrician lines. The mention of Nicholas Fenn's name seemed to have transformed him.
"If I were you, Furley," he advised, "for the sake of our friendship, I wouldn't try. There is no consideration in the world which would alter my intentions."
There was the sound of the lifting of the outer latch, a knock at the door. The incoming visitors stood upon no ceremony. Mr.
Stenson and Catherine showed themselves upon the threshold.
Mr. Stenson waved aside all ceremony and at once checked Furley's attempt to rise to his feet.
"Pray don't get up, Furley," he begged, shaking hands with him.
"I hope you'll forgive such an informal visit. I met Miss Abbeway on my way down to the sea, and when she told me that she was coming to call on you, I asked leave to accompany her."
"You're very welcome, sir," was the cordial response. "It's an honour which I scarcely expected."
Julian found chairs for every one, and Mr. Stenson, recognising intuitively a certain state of tension, continued his good-humoured remarks.
"Miss Abbeway and I," he said, "have been having a most interesting conversation, or rather argument. I find that she is entirely of your way of thinking, Furley. You both belong to the order of what I call puffball politicians."
Catherine laughed heartily at the simile.
"Mr. Stenson is a glaring example," she pointed out, "of those who do not know their own friends. Mr. Furley and I both believe that some time or other our views will appeal to the whole of the intellectual and unselfish world."
"It's a terrible job to get people to think," Furley observed.
"They are nearly always busy doing something else."
"And these aristocrats!"' Catherine continued, smiling at Julian.
"You spoil them so in England, you know. Eton and Oxford are simply terrible in their narrowing effect upon your young men.
It's like putting your raw material into a sausage machine."
"Miss Abbeway is very severe this morning," Stenson declared, with unabated good humour. "She has been attacking my policy and my principles during the whole of our walk. Bad luck about your accident, Furley. I suppose we should have met whilst I am down here, if you hadn't developed too adventurous a spirit."
Furley glanced at Julian and smiled.
"I am not so sure about that, sir," he said. "Your host doesn't approve of me very much."
"Do political prejudices exist so far from their home?" Mr.
Stenson asked.
"I am afraid my father is rather old-fashioned," Julian confessed.
